Feeling Small
by beethreefour
Summary: Dan Howell; self-described trainwreck. All he ever wanted was to lead a normal, clean-cut life, but that was pretty much impossible for him. Hated at school, and ignored at home, his existence was bleak. And he was ready to end it all, before he met his saviour, Phil Lester; equally messed up.
1. Between These Spaces

Between These Spaces

 _Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones, I'm always on my knees for you..._

I gripped the side of the toilet bowl, my knuckles turning white as I threw up over and over again. All I could hear was the shower and the bath taps running, but it sounded as sweet as a lover's song. This was a regular thing, and I had begun to love the time I spent here. Maybe this would make me feel better, I hoped. I quickly flushed the evidence, hoping none of my family members walked past the door while I did so. Not that they'd care, but still. I sprayed the room with air freshener until I couldn't smell anything but flowers. Added to the burning caused by the acids in bile, it felt like my throat had been pepper sprayed by roses. I threw a polo into my mouth, quickly eating it to take the stench from my breath. After I washed my mouth out with water, it should be almost undetectable that I had thrown up. I put my head under the water for a few seconds to make it seem like I had been taking a shower, then washed my mouth out.

"DAN! HURRY UP!" my mum screamed, banging on the bathroom door with her fist. I checked the toilet for any remaining evidence, of which there was none, turned off the bath taps and then the showerhead, and unlocked the bathroom door. Rubbing my head with a towel while walking past my mother, I smiled at her. She scowled back. I ran to my room, avoiding the rest of my family in the process. I pressed play on my stereo, which resumed the song I'd paused it in the middle of, Shake Tramp.

 _Try a little more, little more, little more, they slap you like a bitch, and you take it like a whore..._

Despite the actual meaning of how the music industry mess with artists, nobody could help but hear the sexual undertone to the song. I jumped around stupidly in my room while waiting for my straighteners to warm up. Thankfully, they were wet-to-dry, so I wouldn't have to use a hairdryer. I slipped my school tie over my head, pulling it up to just below my open collar. I tucked the thin side into my shirt before slipping my blazer on. I never understood why our uniforms had to be so formal, I mean, all we're doing is going to a building to learn. It makes no sense to me.

After I had straightened my hair and ran down the stairs, I grabbed my bus money, bag and house keys from the kitchen table, making sure my mints were in my pocket, and walked out the door. One day I'll walk out of this door alive and return dead, or not at all. It all depends on when I have the guts to do it. But for now, another monotonous day of 'excellent' education.

"Alright, guys, we have someone new in our tutor this year. This is Phil." explained my form tutor, Mrs Heff, gesturing to the awkward boy stood in front of the whiteboard, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack, the other shoved tight in his pocket. He was looking down to hide his face behind his dark hair, but I could pretty much make out what he looked like. He was sort of older though, not like he belonged in a Year 10 form group. "He's been transferred, and has missed a year of education, but I'm sure you'll all welcome him as an equal. Now, who would like to show Phil the ropes for his first couple of weeks here?" I shrunk in my seat, trying not to let her see me. Nobody around me seemed remotely interested in helping out this new guy, so Mrs Heff would have to pick someone. And her gaze turned to me.

"Dan" she said, turning her face to the side and smiling sweetly, as if trying to trick me into helping her. "You can show Phil around until he gets the hang of things, right? I'm sure you two would get along so well!" I scoffed under my breath, and a few people around me muttered to themselves.

 _"Who'd wanna be friends with that loser?"_

 _"Have you seen his hand? What's with those sores? Like, gross."_

 _"He's a faggot"_

Mrs Heff pushed lightly on Phil's back between his shoulders, moving him lightly towards my desk. He began to walk over by himself, and I pulled out the chair beside me to make space for him to sit down.

"I'm Dan" I said, turning to him and smiling weakly. No doubt he'd be a prick, the same as everyone else in this damn school.

"Well, uh... I'm Phil, but you already know that, because..." he trailed off, his voice quietening near the end.

"Alright, guys, you can talk for the next half hour." Mrs Heff said, before returning to her desk and putting in her headphones.

"Phil! Come over here, sit with us" shouted one of the guys from the other side of the room. Phil looked at me, and I waved him away to tell him he could go if he wanted. It always works out the same.

When the bell for lessons rang, and everyone got up and left the classroom, I hung around for Phil, knowing he wouldn't know where to go. The others hadn't been so considerate, and had left him.

"What class do you have now?" I asked him, and he looked slightly puzzled.

"Do you have your journal yet?"

He fumbled around in his bag to look for it, _erring_ and _arring_ as he did so, before sliding it out carefully. I had forgotten what these looked like new. We only replaced our journals every two years, as they had two school years' worth of dates inside. As such, mine was stuffed full of paper six inches thick, and falling apart. Phil handed me his slim, pristine journal, and I flipped it over to look at the timetable on the back.

"Friday... Lesson one... You have music... With me!" I said, handing him back his journal. He slipped it back inside his bag, and then followed me when I began to walk.

"So, you took music, huh?" I asked, gripping my bag strap with both hands.

"Yeah" he chuckled, looking down again. This boy was shy, and I liked that. The shyest people are always the most interesting to break out of their shells. It'd be a pity when he got bored of me. "It was kinda because, uh, I'm no good at art, and I get nervous on stage a lot. So music it was, I suppose" he laughed, looking up at me for fleeting seconds at a time. He looked embarrassed just talking to people.

"I've always liked music" I explained. "Ever since I was a kid."

"What genres?" asked Phil. He looked genuinely interested, which was such a change to the indifference or hatred I usually experienced.

"Uhh, like rock, pop punk, post hardcore, screamo, metalcore, that sort of stuff?" I left the end a question, as usually when I answer this question people call me an emo fag, scoff, and never talk to me again. But Phil, his eyes lit up.

"Me too" he grinned. I decided to change the subject before I found out too much about the boy who had already befriended the popular kids.

"I'm guessing you're friends with those guys, then..." I asked, meaning the boys he had sat with earlier. Phil suddenly looked shock at the mere suggestion of him being friends with them.

"Dear god no" he laughed, shaking his head. "They're awful. All they talk about is how much they dislike you, and make speculations about your hand." He gestured to the sores on my right hand.

"It's- uh- it's personal stuff" I rushed. I wasn't about to spill everything to a boy who's pretending he doesn't hate me. I'm willing to bet they asked him to find dirt out about me, so they could use it against me. He was about to reply when we got to the music room, and had to sit in our assigned seats for the first few minutes of the lesson, on opposite sides of the room.

When the teacher had finished speaking, and we were all left to do our own thing, Phil stayed sat in his seat. I gestured to him to follow me, and waited until he had gotten within a few feet of me to start walking again. Soon, we got to one of the music practice rooms. It was remarkably large for a spare room. There was enough space to fit both a piano and a drum kit on opposite walls. I opened the door and sat at the piano, leaving my foot at the bottom of the door to keep it open for Phil.

"So like... uh... what are we doing?" Phil asked, spinning slightly on the drum stool he had chosen to sit on.

"Well, we're working on a piece of performance work. That's basically just like covers and stuff." I told him. "I could play you mine, if you want?" I offered. I didn't quite know how to speak with Phil, because nobody had ever spoken to me like a person before. It was unfamiliar and weird. I knew he wasn't going to stick around forever, however. Soon enough he'd find out about what I'm really like, and he'd be gone in a flash.

"You can play piano? That is so cool. Go on, play it!" He enthused, leaning over from across the room. I placed my hands on the keys, and began to play. I heard Phil inhale slightly as soon as the tune became recognisable. I began to sing the lyrics of the song, and Phil did so too.

 _"This place is a hole, but I don't wanna go"_

 _"I wish we could stay here forever alone"_

 _"The time that we waste, but I still love your taste."_

 _"Don't let him take my place, don't just sit there."_

We carried on like that until the song ended. When we got to the last chorus, I had stopped looking at the piano completely, and looked only at Phil. However, he was not looking at me. He seemed to be so mesmerised by watching me play piano, he hasn't realised my attention was diverted.

I couldn't help but stare at his face. I don't know what it was, but something about him transfixed me. Something felt different about him.

Right in the middle of the last verse, the music teacher came in.

"Perfect boys, that's your piece for this year."

As soon as he said that, I panicked internally. If that was our piece for this year, we could not change that. Even after this boy will have ultimately sacrificed me for his own popularity, I will be forced to sing Mariana's Trench with him.

This year is gonna suck.


	2. It All Got Wasted

_Everyone I've ever known is lined outside my bedroom door, begrudgingly entering one by one. They recite their well-rehearsed speeches of how much they "love" me, how much this is hurting them. How much I'm hurting them. Their hatred showing under a guise of love and caring. A boy comes in, soft black hair shaped around his head, brown eyes flooded with sadness. Charlie._

 _His words are warped and I don't know what he says. He's crying, but I can't reach out to hold him-_

"Phil?"

I turned around, startled by the sudden noise.

"Huh?"

"I said, how do you feel, man?"

Looking around, I found myself inside the coffee coloured pastoral office of my new school. The head of year, whose name I couldn't even attempt to remember, held her pen slightly above her clipboard, eager to write about how messed up I am.

"Uhh, okay I... guess? Better."

"Better in any specific way? You need to help me here, Phil."

"Uhm, well, I guess-"

"You don't need to hold back what you want to say. You don't have to choose your words carefully with me."

 _"I guess in this situation a few months ago your very presence would make me want to do it again"_ I mumbled, fiddling with the lace on my shoe. I was sat cross legged on the brown sofa that was tucked tightly into the corner of the room.

"Excuse me? I didn't hear you, you were mumbling."

"Nothing." I stated dully, before grabbing my bag and leaving the room.

I spend pretty much an entire year in a psych ward, and this was my reward. Placement in a new school, in classes with kids a year younger than me, with weekly mock therapy sessions with a half-witted head of year who seems to think she's still 17. Walking through the halls of my new school, I noticed several things. For a start, there didn't seem to be much sport paraphernalia around. That was a pleasant change for me, as in my old school sport was the only thing they cared about. Every kid was forced into a team, and there was no way out of it bar medical excuses. We did get to form our own teams, though. I and some others I knew just said we were playing football, but we would simply hang around underneath the stands for the duration of the 'lesson' smoking.

Eventually, I got to what would be my tutor room for the remainder of my time at this school. As school hadn't yet officially begun, nobody was in the room but the woman who I assumed was my tutor.

I knocked on the door hesitantly, before she turned around. She was quite a plump woman, and the wrinkles near her eyes showed she smiled often.

She walked over to me, shaking my hand.

"Hello, you must be Phil! I'm Mrs Heff." Her voice was cheery, and she seemed like a very pleasant woman.

"Yeah, hi" I grinned, unsure of what to do.

As if answering my prayers, the bell rang for tutor right after. Students began to flood in, filling almost every seat in the room. When the movement seemed to still, Mrs Heff spoke.

"Alright, guys, we have someone new in our tutor this year. This is Phil" she explained, looking hopefully around the room. "He's been transferred, and has missed a year of education, but I'm sure you'll all welcome him as an equal. Now, who would like to show Phil the ropes for his first couple of weeks here?"

Everyone in the room seemed to try to make themselves seem smaller, and not a single person in the class wanted to be my friend.

 _Great_ I thought _, I've been here two seconds and everyone already hates me._

Mrs Heff looked over at one of the boys at the back of the room. He was sat alone, and I seemed to remember him also walking in alone, too.

"Dan, you can show Phil around until he gets the hang of things, right? I'm sure you two would get along so well!"

The boy, whose name I presumed was Dan, scoffed under his breath. I also heard others muttering around the room, but I couldn't quite make out what they said. I stayed stood where I was for a few moments, before Mrs Heff gently pushed on my back to move me. I saw Dan pull out the chair beside him for me, and I approached to sit with him.

"I'm Dan" he said, turning to face me. He smiled, but it was weak and fake. If I was honest, I didn't trust this boy.

"Well, uh... I'm Phil, but you already know that, because..." I attempted to string a sentence together, but ended up trailing off at the end.

"Alright, guys, you can talk for the next half hour." Mrs Heff announced to the group. Dan looked over, but I didn't see the point.

Suddenly, the guys on the other side of the class started to yell for me. I turned around to look what they wanted, but when I looked back at Dan, he simply shooed me away. I don't think he was particularly happy about having to spend his time looking after the stray new kid.

I sighed, and went over to the others, interested into what they wanted.

"You're not gonna be friends with that fag, right?" One of them asked, flicking balled up paper at Dan.

"Uh- I, uh, I don't know. I only just met him."

"I'd suggest you don't speak to him more than you need to. Right fucking creep, he is. Sores on his hand and everything."

I hadn't seen Dan's hands, but I couldn't think of why he would have sores on them.

"I bet he burns his hand" another boy stated, jumping into the conversation suddenly. I still didn't know their names, but I didn't think I wanted to.

The bell rang again, this time for lessons, and everyone in the classroom quickly left. Except Dan.

"What class do you have now?" He asked. I suddenly realised that I didn't actually know what lessons I had today.

"Do you have your journal yet?" Dan asked again.

I began to fumble around in my bag, desperately trying to look for it, several errs and arrs escaping my lips as I did. I finally found it, and handed it over now Dan. He flipped it over and looked at the back, where I had now discovered the timetable was displayed.

"Friday... Lesson one... You have music... With me!" Dan sounded excited, but based on his bitterness earlier, I did not expect him to have much of an interest in associating himself with me.

"So, you took music, huh?" He asked, grabbing his bag with both hands. When he did so, I saw the state of his right hand. There were several small blisters and red spots, and his knuckles were callused.

"Yeah" I chuckled, answering his question. "It was kinda because, uh, I'm no good at art, and I get nervous on stage a lot. So music it was, I suppose".

"I've always liked music, ever since I was a kid." Dan seemed like an interesting person, and I genuinely wanted to know more about him. He intrigued me, and it was a shame he wasn't too interested in me.

"What genres?" I asked. It was my duty to find out more about this boy, even if it killed me.

"Uhh, like rock, pop punk, post hardcore, screamo, metalcore, that sort of stuff?" He left the end as a question, but his answer made me happy. He liked the same music as me.

"Me too" I grinned. It was nice to find someone who likes good music too.

"I'm guessing you're friends with those guys, then..." he asked, and I assumed he meant the boys I had sat with earlier. I laughed at the mere suggestion.

"Dear god no" I shook my head, looking over at him. "They're awful. All they talk about is how much they dislike you, and make speculations about your hand." I gestured to his hand, hoping I wasn't crossing an unspoken line.

"It's- uh- it's personal stuff" he rushed, pulling his sleeve down and shoving his hand into his pocket. I was about to comment on it when we finally made our way in to the music room, and I was ushered into an assigned seat for the first few minutes of the class.

When the teacher had finished talking about how he expects nothing less than an A from every single member of the group, we were left to work independently. I didn't quite know what I was supposed to be doing, and so I stayed in my seat until Dan called me over.

We both walked into a small practice rooms. Surprisingly, the small room could fit both a piano and a drum kit on opposite walls. Dan sat on the piano seat, and I grabbed the stool from behind the drum kit, which let out air as I sat on it.

"So like... uh... what are we doing?" I asked, using my feet to spin slightly on the stool.

"Well, we're working on a piece of performance work. That's basically just like covers and stuff." He replied. "I could play you mine, if you want?" I hadn't even realized Da could play piano, which I then found dumb seeing as he had sat in front of the piano as soon as he got in to the room.

"You can play piano? That is so cool. Go on, play it!" I begged, leaning my hands on my knees.

Dan began to play, and I recognised the song almost instantly. _Lover Dearest._ Dan began to sing, and I joined in too.

"This place is a hole, but I don't wanna go"

"I wish we could stay here forever alone"

"The time that we waste, but I still love your taste."

"Don't let him take my place, don't just sit there."

We carried on singing together until the song ended. The moment was liquid happiness. There was nothing between us and the music.

Getting to the last chorus, I had become transfixed on watching Dan play. The wounds long forgotten, my only focus was the notes Dan was producing through the beautiful instrument. The beautiful sound seemed to have entranced me.

Nearing the end of the last verse, the music teacher entered the room suddenly, and without prior notice. He stayed until we finished, slightly more nervous than before, and with the magic broken.

"Perfect boys, that's your piece for this year." He said, clapping his hands together once before walking out. He didn't seem to be the type of person I would enjoy my time with.

"Does he always do that?" I asked, laughing at what had happened

"Yeah" Dan chuckled, sounding slightly more disheartened than before. He fixed his fringe, and started to improvise on the piano.

"You know, you're pretty good." I said, tapping lightly on the stool.

"Thank you" Dan said, turning around for a second before going back to the piano.

"Do you play anything? You can't just be a great voice"

I blushed slightly at the compliment, and stuttered an answer

"I-I mean uh, I played violin until I was about 12, I guess"

I was never that good at violin, but I played for around 3 or 4 years.

"That's really cool, man, isn't that super hard?" Dan asked, still playing piano

"Not as hard as people think, honestly."

We chatted mindlessly about music for the rest of the hour until the bell sounded for the next lesson.

The rest of the day went by quickly, and soon I found myself back at home. I stayed in my room for the rest of the night, my mum only bothering to communicate with me in order to check my arms and give me food.

It wasn't until my dad came back home at 3am, drunken and surly, that things went sour.

My parents spent three hours arguing, and that night, as every night since I came home, I slept with fresh tears still forming in my eyes.


	3. I Don't Know How To Word It

It'd been a week and a half since Phil joined our school. In that time, we hadn't done much but help each other with homework. While I appreciated his company, I knew it wouldn't last long. There was always the voice in the back of my head telling me that soon he would get bored of me, or worse.

We were sat together at the back of the room in English, as we had every lesson since he'd arrived. His feet were hooked around the front legs of his chair, and one of mine had found its way around the back right leg of his. We'd sat this way in pretty much every lesson, mainly caused by the fact that I had always sat with my ankle hooked around the legs of the chair next to me. Nobody had ever sat with me, and so nobody ever minded.

Despite the fact that Phil was the only person in the school who talked to me, I still didn't trust him. I couldn't get my head around why he would want to talk to _me._ I'm definitely nobody special, that had been drilled into me since birth. He laughed and joked with me now, but I knew it was all a ruse. He didn't really care. He was just pretending to befriend the school loser, so that he could slowly climb the social food chain. The only thing keeping him here was the thought that I was just unpopular because I wasn't liked. If he knew about my bulimia, he'd be gone in an instant. He wouldn't want people to think he was associated with anyone like me. Any _thing_ like me.

The teacher, whose name I couldn't seem to recall from my memory, started laying two sheets of blank paper on every table.

"I want each and every one of you to draw yourselves. It doesn't need to be a work of art, a stick man will suffice. Around the drawing of yourself, I would like you to label everything you do not like about yourselves, things you would change if you could. If you don't wish to draw, simply make a list."

I hated tasks like these. ' _Character building activities'_ they called them, when in reality they just made us all hate ourselves just a little bit more.

I decided not to draw, for the sake of everyone's eyes, and started to scrawl out my list. The very first thing I could think of made me laugh at the irony. _I was already trying to change it._

 _My weight,_

 _My hair,_

 _My fingers,_

 _My laugh,_

 _My voice,_

 _My eyes,_

 _My hands_

The list carried on for a good while after that. Looking around, I noticed that most of the others in the class had written one or two things they wanted to change, and I was reminded once again how much of a fuck-up I was.

Phil had his arm draped over his paper, however just under his elbow I could see the word _scars_ , lazily scribbled as if it was second nature by now. For a split second, my mind raced through the possibilities of the word's meaning, but I scolded myself for my hopefulness.

 _Nobody here is like you, Dan._ I thought. _Nobody else is fucked up enough to hurt themselves._

While I had never cut myself, or held a lighter to my skin, I had begun this descent into madness with the same mind state as a self-harmer- _I didn't deserve anything better._

"Swap papers!" the teacher announced, jolting me out of my thoughts and back into the classroom. I wondered why we were doing this. What was the point of herding children into a classroom and getting them to write out their insecurities, only to force them to allow almost strangers to read about their self-hatred? I would never understand teachers.

I slid my paper over to Phil's side of the desk, with a hint of hesitation. After reading this, he'd notice all this stuff too. He'd notice how my thighs practically pool around me when I sat on a plastic chair, or how short and stubby my fingers are. He'd grow slowly irritated at my voice, and he would see the dark bags beneath my eyes. His paper flew gracefully over the table towards me, but I noticed how it was only after I had given him mine.

He had chosen to draw himself, fringe and all, but the words were merely scattered around the drawing, and he had not drawn arrows pointing to where on his body these points of dislike were. My eyes flicked over the scrawled writing. _Glasses, hair, nose, feet, scars, smile,_ there were so many things on this paper that Phil didn't like about himself, but I could see how wrong he was.

He was so very wrong.

The bell rang for the end of class, and me and Phil hurried out together, both still shoving our books and pencil cases back into our bags. I still didn't know much at all about this boy, nor did I trust him. But I did enjoy his company, however temporary.

"Are classes always like this?" Phil joked, a laugh filtering through his speech.

"Yeah, pretty much" I sighed, trying to joke along. I wasn't very good at whatever it was I was supposed to be doing, and I wanted it to be over as soon as possible. While Phil probably would have been an ideal friend for somebody who knew how to speak to other human beings without making them want to blow your brains out, his very presence reminded me of just how different I was. While Phil was able to conjure conversation from the depths of his mind, I would always sit comfortably in silence until someone hacked their way through it with harsh words.

I made my way over to my favourite place in the school; a small corner of the field, where several assorted low hanging trees met, weaving branches through each other and leaning down onto the grass. Once a person has ducked under the leaves of the trees, they are invisible to the outside world, alone with themselves. It was where I used to sit every break and lunchtime before Phil came- I had never meant to show it to him. It was only by instinct that I had wandered over here, and by chance that Phil had followed me. By the time I had realized what I was doing, and that he was still there, it was already too late to turn back and go in a different direction. I ducked under the branches and walked back into my sanctuary for the first time in a long time. As the branches above and around were so thickly layered and leaved, even when it rained heavily there was no chance of it ever entering this place. Because of this, added with the fact that nobody but me -not even the school themselves- knew about this place, I had started bringing things from home to place inside. Small things like cushions, lamps, matches and blankets. Things nobody would notice were missing. As such, it had become a sort of outdoor living space. It was my home away from home, and I adored it.

"Woah..." Phil breathed. "This place is beautiful... who made it?"

"I did" I smiled, striking a match on the side of the box and lighting the several candle lamps I had hung from exposed tree branches on the inside layer. I turned to see Phil sat in front of the large pile of small cushions, watching the shadows of the branches dance around us.

"This is where I like to be. I hope you don't think it's stupid or anything..." I trailed off, wandering over to where Phil was sat and collapsing down beside him.

"I don't think it's stupid. I think it's great. How many other people can look back and say they made themselves a sanctuary in school? Not many. Enjoy this, it's yours". Phil had taken his lunch out of his bag, and reluctantly I did the same. This was one thing I didn't like about having Phil around. Before at dinner, I just wouldn't eat anything. Nobody would know, and it meant I didn't have to throw up at school. But since the first day with Phil, and his interest in to why I had nothing with me to eat, I had had to bring in food for dinner. Only simple, regular lunch things, such as sandwiches and a packet of crisps. But to me, it made all the difference.

I couldn't imagine Phil having the faintest idea of how much he was affecting me. While I was fucked up and sick, he seemed pretty normal to me.

"It's really hot in here, do trees have like, insulation powers?" He joked, leaning back onto his palms.

"If you're hot, take your blazer off." I stated dully, removing mine in turn.

"N-nah I'm o-okay" he stuttered, sitting up and tugging on both sleeves. I looked at him questioningly, and he sighed before removing his blazer. He placed it behind him, and propped himself up on his palms once again. The sleeves of his shirt, while going down to his wrist, were not buttoned together. Therefore, a large portion of the inside of his arm was exposed when he leant backwards. His left arm was scattered with lines of different shades, some white, some brown, and some pinkish. There were even one or two large, thick, purple scars, rising above the skin.

"What happened to your arm?" I asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer.


End file.
